


Stand my Ground

by superhusbands



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gallavich, M/M, and now its his turn to do the same, in which ian has always been there for mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 11:17:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1426510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhusbands/pseuds/superhusbands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 4x11. </p><p>This was real now. He wasn't stupid enough to believe that everything was going to be sunshine and rainbows, they lived on the fucking southside, but for once? The idea of a future didn't seem so bleak. Maybe he'd even manage to keep his ass out of juvie, show his douchebag father that he was better. That the homo was a better man than he'd ever be. [Ian/Mickey.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stand my Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is officially the first work I've posted on AO3, and I'm so excited to get started. I've had the worst case of writers block for nearly two years now, but it finally feels like things are getting back to where they used to be. I have Shameless to thank for that, and I guess you could say that I have a bit of a problem. (Might have watched all four seasons in... 3 days? Yikes.)
> 
> I hope I captured Mickey and Ian and did them justice. I welcome all types of criticism, constructive or otherwise. 
> 
> Also posted on my tumblr http://thisaintmacys.tumblr.com

A drink turned into two, and then two turned into five, and by the time Kev called for last call, he could barely see straight. He'd thought that they'd never be able to show their faces in the bar again-- too many fucking homophobes-- but Mandy had practically drug them in by the hair and shoved shots down their throats. The normality of it was reassuring, like he hadn't just bared his fucking soul out for everyone to hear. His words still echoed in his ears, things that he never thought he'd have the balls-- or the death wish-- to say out loud. But now that it was out there, now that people knew, it felt like a giant weight had been plucked off of his shoulders. Like he wasn't being crushed with every breath, every glance, that he tossed in Ian's direction. Speaking of... 

The other boy was sitting close beside him, his arms propped up on the bar counter as he spun the empty shot glass around on the table. Their arms were side by side, touching just barely, and he couldn't help but shift it just a fraction to the left so that they were closer. No fucking way would he be caught holding hands, or doing any of that other gay shit, but this... this was alright. Not too much, but enough at the same time. Another shot more and they were being kicked out of the bar, his eyes rolling practically out of his head when Ian grabbed him round the waist, claiming he'd help him home. 'You're drunker than I am, dick.' He'd grumbled, before nearly toppling them both over. More laughter had ensued and then, after a moment of hesitation, he'd closed the gap between them. The kiss was different from the others, it wasn't an expression of desperation, or of new-found freedoms, but an acknowledgement that this? This was real now. He wasn't stupid enough to believe that everything was going to be sunshine and rainbows, they lived on the fucking southside, but for once? The idea of a future didn't seem so bleak. Maybe he'd even manage to keep his ass out of jail, show his douchebag father that he was better. That the homo was a better man than he'd ever be. 

'Mick?'

He looked up when he heard Ian speak, realizing that he'd been silent for too long. He brushed it off like it was no big deal, nudging his shoulder as he shrugged. 'Nothing man, just thinking.'

'Didn't know you could think.'

He rolled his eyes, smacking his ass, as they turned the corner towards the Gallagher house. He could tell by the teasing look in Ian's eyes that he was just razzing him, that he didn't mean shit by it, and that was one of the things he lo__really liked about him. He wasn't afraid to call him out on his shit, especially when he needed it. 

'Blow me, Firecrotch.'

'Or you could blow me.'

And then, suddenly, the tables had turned. He watched as Ian's lips curved into a smirk, the way they always did when he knew that he was about to drive Mickey fucking wild. He grabbed him by the front of the shirt, kissing him hard, before practically dragging him up into the house. They didn't make it up the stairs, detouring to the bathroom as Mickey dropped to his knees. His fingers made quick work of the buckle on Ian's jeans, shoving them down and out of the way as he took him in hand, stroking twice before taking him in his mouth. He had to hold back a moan as he went down on him, his tongue swirling over Ian's tip as he took him all in, bringing his hand up to stroke him at the same time. He loved everything about Ian's cock, about the noises he made and the way his body pushed forward whenever he started to get close. Mickey loved getting fucked, loved the feel of Ian's hard cock pumping in and out of him, but he loved this too. Loved the wet heat, the fire that burned through his veins, and the high that came from knowing that it was him driving Ian over the edge. 

He pulled back with a groan of annoyance when Ian pulled him off, shooting him an annoyed look. 'The fuck you doin', Ian?' He was answered by the other boy pulling him up by the collar of his shirt, their lips pressing together. It was something he'd never gotten used to, even after all of the ups and downs between them. Kisses came few and far between, mostly due to fault of his own, but there was no denying that nothing compared to the way his lips felt when they were pressed against Ian's. And if he was smiling, he'd never admit it. His fingers came down to yank at his belt, pulling it off and shedding his jeans as he turned around, leaning up against the sink as he groaned. He could feel Ian's hands tracing the contours of his ass, working him over like he was uncharted territory that he wanted to explore. Another groan ripped through him as Ian spread his cheeks, sucking in a breath as he felt the tip of his cock, teasing him before tearing down the barrier between their bodies. He leaned back against him, breath caught in his throat, as he pushed back as Ian pushed forward. No matter what happened, where they found themselves in life, it always came back to this. To the feel of Ian's hands on his hips, his cock sending spirals of passion through him, and the way he bit down on his lip to keep himself from moaning out his name. But now? Now he didn't have to be quiet, he didn't have to keep it a secret, shove it down and lock it away. If he wanted to say his name, he'd fucking say it. He could shout it from the damn rooftops if he wanted to. 

But then he remembered that Ian had a buttload of siblings, so now wasn't the time.

He brought his hand down to wrap around his dick as he felt himself getting close, cursing under his breath when Ian's hand covered his own. A few more thrusts and he was gone, his head falling forward as he groaned, feeling Ian's body tensing up as his own orgasm washed over him. The air was heavy with the smell of sex and the sound of their ragged breathing, and he broke it with a laugh, shaking his head. He was too drunk for this shit, too drunk and too happy. He was sure that tomorrow would be shit, that something would be a dick and give him hell, but in the moment? He couldn't give less of a fuck. He had Ian. He was happy. No one was going to take that away from him. 

They made their way back upstairs a few minutes later, Mickey deciding to say fuck it and to just crash in Ian's bed from the get go. They weren't fooling anyone anyway, and if they didn't know by now, that wasn't his problem.. He tossed his shirt to the side, stumbling over to the bed and rolling onto his side to face Ian. Something about him seemed off, more off than usual, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was. He was too drunk to see the signs, to realize something was really wrong. He mumbled a good night, ending it off with an asshole and a kiss, before giving in and crashing. He wouldn't know that Ian stayed up all night, alternating between staring at the ceiling and watching him sleep. 

When he woke up the next morning he groaned, his head already pounding, and he rolled off to the side, expecting Ian to be gone. Seemed like every morning he was up with the crack of dawn, out for a run or making breakfast, but not today. He was still in bed, still in all of his clothes from the night before, staring up at the ceiling like it held all the answers to the universe. He watched him for a minute or two, getting more concerned with every minute of silence that ticked by. He cleared his throat, propping himself up a little on his elbows. 'You alright?'

Ian didn't respond. That should have been the first clue. He prodded his shoulder, joking about how it was a bitch mood to act like a girl and ignore him, but Ian still didn't say anything. Seemed like no matter what he did, or what he said, Ian wasn't budging. Hell, he hadn't even cracked a smile when he'd mentioned giving him a hummer to cheer him up.

'Alright, uh, m'gonna shower, make some breakfast... you got eggs?' Ian didn't respond again, but he hadn't really expected him to. It was all or nothing with him lately-- hyped up like a tweaker, or catatonic. He brought his hand up to run through his hair on impulse, like his mom had back in the day on one of her good days when she wasn't coked out of her mind and fighting with Terry, and gave him one last look before getting up and out of bed. He showered quick before heading down to the kitchen, scrambling some eggs and putting them on a plate with some OJ to bring back upstairs. The eggs were runny, he was no Gordon Ramsay, but he'd tried. He kicked the door open with his foot, bringing the food over and offering it up to him. 'Don't say I never gave you anything, yeah? Grubs up.'

The more Ian didn't respond, the more worried he got. He gave up with the food, putting the plate down on the side of the table before getting back in bed beside him. He hesitated for a moment before putting a hand against his lower back, not sure what to say but wanting him to know that he was there for him. That he wasn't going anywhere, not after all the shit that they'd gone through. He felt Ian's shoulders relax, though he was still tense, and he shifted a little closer as he brought his hand back up to tentatively play with his hair. He didn't know what to say to make it better, to bring him back, but for better or worse? He was sticking around. He wasn't gonna let fear of his dad, or other people, or the unknown itself, scare him off. He was standing his ground. Ian'd been there through all his shit, waited for him to get it together and helped him every step of the way, he could damn well do the same.


End file.
